


The One Where Christmas Sucks

by JSMachines (jaimesselfishmachines)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Barson - but not really, F/M, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/JSMachines
Summary: (Fill for an anon prompt)Barba works hard, everyone knows that. He gives his all, all the time, one hundred percent.But his body very rarely thanks him for it. Come to think of it, no one does.(AKA the one where Christmas sucks - just a little bit.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVUWinterFicFest2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVUWinterFicFest2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
> 
> Pairings: Barson or just friendship with the other character
> 
> My prompt is based off of this headcanon:  
> Headcanon: the real reason why barba never played sports or did physical labor because he has always had a bad back. Any time he lifts something over like 40 pounds, he gets muscle spasms and twinges in his vertebrae. We never see him holding or lifting heavy things ever
> 
> So basically I just want a story revolving around this. It can be just a random time in his office and his back acts up or something. Or it can be action packed or violent. I definitely want to know how he lives with it, how people react to it and what they do to try to be helpful and supportive.
> 
> Do not wants: smut, death, rape, less than 1k words

 

* * *

 

**26th December**

It’s Christmas and it’s getting bad again. Rafael blames it on the weather, even though he had stepped out of a just-too-hot shower five minutes ago. Barba clenches his teeth, rotating his shoulders as gently as possible whilst he shrugs on a crisp white shirt. He grunts, buttoning it as quickly as he can without his back seizing up again. Olivia had called him some twenty minutes ago, and if he wasn’t in the squad room in less than that, there would be a lot of questions. He bent down for his shoes, and...  
“Uhh!” His muscles tensed, unforgiving of Barba’s hectic schedule, sending white hot flashes of pain up his spine. Rafael screamed – half in agony, half in anger – as he crumpled to the ground. “Fuck. Oh fuck,” he cursed, knowing without a doubt that he would need a bit more than a massage and a weekend off this time. Maybe no one would question his absence; the squad would all be drunk with Christmas spirit and eggnog, and he would be able to climb back into bed. No, that would be too easy, and right now the universe had arranged itself into these exact circumstances to screw up his day.

Olivia had been planning this party for a while, using what little spare time she had, to make sure the squad had a period of calm, even though they were all on forced overtime over the vacation. She had been so selfless in the endeavour, so Rafael had cleared his schedule just for her. Olivia would be so disappointed if he wasn’t in attendance. Rafael shook his head, clenching his jaw as another flare of pain struck him.

He was used to being a disappointment.

 

* * *

 

  
**28th December**

It’s been 16 years to the day. Rafael has made a tradition of it, visiting the gravestone of that selfish bastard. He calls it paying his dues. The elder Barba had been a hard, soulless man; all rigid lines and not an inch of compassion. Ernesto Barba had always had high hopes for his only son, and no matter what Rafael did, it was never up to scratch with Ernesto’s expectations. Even when Rafael won a scholarship to the prestigious Harvard University, Ernesto refused to let go of his dreams of a professional athlete son. Rafael was already a clerk in King’s County when his old man died, and Rafael felt no shame in saying the news was met with neither remorse nor regret, but rather a strange sense of relief that washed over Barba, cleansing him of all burdens.

Rafael Barba steps up to the tomb stone. He hadn’t gone to the funeral, even though his mother had begged him. Rafael grimaces, digging his toe into the dirt the same way he has for the last five years. “Loving father…” Rafael reads aloud. He doesn’t cry like the first time he came here; but every time he does, he wonders why. He had loved his father, he had wanted nothing more than to please his father, and he had the scars to prove it.

The first time Olivia had seen them, Rafi pretended she hadn’t. She raised her hand and gently brushed her fingertips against them, feeling the raised flesh beneath her fingertips. Rafael flinched, squirming away from the inquisitive hands. They didn’t hurt, but there was something about them that he was still ashamed of. Rafael had never let himself feel vulnerable in her presence since then. Olivia just had too many questions that he couldn’t answer.

The three thick white lines, tough like leather, make his back their home. One is straight and horizontal, and Rafael remembers the clank of a belt buckle near his shoulder blade. Another, nearer to his hips, is slanted in the same direction of Ernesto’s left hand, and Rafael remembers the unmistakable sound of his flesh tearing itself apart under Ernesto’s loving direction. The largest one crosses his spine, arrogantly introducing itself to anyone who may catch a glimpse of his naked skin. It is curved and slightly raised – more than the others – and the hardest to hide. Rafael doesn’t remember that one exactly, but he remembers needing surgery, some screws in his spine and a lot of stitches. Ernesto and Lucia were barely making ends meet, and with Lucia desperate to keep the family together… Rafael had learned to live with the pain.

Nothing was normal after that. Ernesto had kept his distance from Rafael, and always seemed to have one foot out the door. Rafi’s _abuelita_ , Teresa, though thankful for what could be considered an improvement in Ernesto’s behaviour, worried constantly over the welfare of her daughter-in-law and grandson. Rafael never forgave his father for his abuelita’s early demise. Teresa had stressed herself into an early grave. Because of his father. Because of him. Because of his foolish inability to cope with a little pain.

He hardened. Even if he denied it from now until his death, the truth remained clear. Rafael became more and more like his father, pushing himself to make a good name for the _Cubanos_ in New York. To pay his mother back for her hard work, to make his abuelita proud, to prove his father wrong. There was so much pressure, so much riding on this one route. Rafael would graduate top of his class, no matter how many sleepless nights it took. No matter how much his back bothered him. It was just a little discomfort. Besides, comfort is the enemy of growth; it wasn't life-threatening, and it wasn’t as though he could afford health insurance.  

“You’re wasting our time with this lawyer bullshit. You think those big-shots in Boston give a damn about you?” Ernesto glared at his son’s quickly-deflating expression, “I won’t let you go. You’ll work like I did. Make something of yourself.” Ernesto took a drag of his cigarette, and went back to reading his paper, effectively dismissed his son.

Rafael’s soft eyes and big grin quickly turned to furrowed brows and clenched fists, “No, Father. I will go – with or without your blessing.” He may not have his father’s approval, but he has this acceptance letter, printed in crisp black ink, signed by the head of admissions, and embossed with the word Veritas – truth.

Ernesto laughed lowly, as though his son had just said the funniest joke, but Rafael didn’t see the humour. “Perra pequena,” He murmured, “you have no respect, Rafael!” Rafael didn’t see the hand, but he felt the blow. Rafael had made the terrible mistake of awakening Ernesto’s anger, and it would not go quietly. Ernesto’s fist knocked his son to the ground, just as it had done so many times before. “You ungrateful…” Ernesto aimed strong, swift kicks at Rafael’s skull, spleen, liver, then ribcage, pausing momentarily when he heard a crack. Rafael groaned, earning a scoff from his father. “Always so weak. Repugnante.” Disgusted with his son, Ernesto sat back down at the table. He examined the smouldering end of his cigarette, discarding it Rafael’s direction. “Harvard? Waste of time and space.” Ernesto laughed and sipped again at the potent dark rum in front of him as he went back to reading his paper.

Rafael wiped at his nose, pursing his lips when he saw blood. He knew better than to react audibly. He picked himself off the ground, stifling any sound of pain that could escape his lips. Rafael knew better, complaining always got more punishment. He tested every joint individually – as fast as he could – before quickly removing himself from Ernesto’s view. Rafael didn’t know how Ernesto expected an athlete as a son when he was always putting Rafael in the hospital. If it was one good thing Rafael learned from his father’s violence and disapproval, it was how to fight for the little guy. And how to cope with pain.

 

“Loving father… tonterías.” Rafael murmured. He spat on his father’s headstone, and never looked back.

 

 

* * *

 

  
**29 th December**

“You’ve been distant, Rafi.” Olivia sat opposite the ADA in the softly-lit offices of the District Attorney, observing how the ADA did everything in his power not to acknowledge her presence. Beside him, a stack of mismatched folders was piled high, each with colourfully highlighted sections. “Have you been going through these all night?” Olivia asked, eyes full of concern.

Rafael drained the remainder of his glass, refilling it with scotch from the truly beautiful crystal decanter Olivia had gotten him for his birthday last year. He was pretty sure he had asked Carmen not to let anyone in his office, but was almost certain Olivia had waited till Carmen was otherwise occupied to sneak past the desk and into his private office. “I need to know why I lost.”

“Rafael, is this related to your father?” She stood, and tip-toed around the desk until she was as close to the ADA as she could get without traipsing into his lap.

“Drop it,” Finally, for the first time since Olivia walked in, the ADA looked up from the file he was reading, "please?".  
Olivia leaned back as she looked into tired eyes. Rafael was beating himself up over this practically unwinnable case, and Olivia had a feeling that it had something to do with the scars on his back; the ones Rafael always refused to tell her about. Rafael diverted his attention away from the lieutenant and focused on that _suddenly extremely interesting_ spot on the cream-coloured wall at the opposite end of the office. He leaned back, raising the tumbler as though toasting some imaginary figure, then throws it back in a manner that causes Olivia to wince.

“We should go home.” Olivia said, shaking her head as Rafael refilled his glass, paying her words no mind. She never took her eyes off him, watching as images of abused children no doubt ran through the ADA’s head. This case, in particular, must have taken a toll on Barba. A child shows up at school with bruises, blaming his abusive alcoholic dad for the injuries. Dad blames the mom. Mom blames the kid for not behaving. Olivia had seen how Barba became the kid’s crusader, going above and beyond to earn justice for the boy, to give his innocence a chance to speak where it had been silenced. Barba had brought his A-game in court, and for some reason – whatever it was – the jury just couldn’t believe the kid’s story.

“It’s my fault.” Barba again drained his glass, focussing a stormy gaze on Olivia. “I failed that little boy.”

“What?” Olivia stood, tilting her head. “No, you did everything you could for Diego. He knows that. I know that. The whole team knows tha – “

“The jury doesn’t fucking know that, Liv!” Suddenly, the scotch didn’t dull the pain. His scars stung and Barba shot up, clawing at the fabric that covered his shoulders. “M-my father…”

“Y-you should lie down,” Olivia stammered, clueless at how to deal with the situation. She held onto his bicep, guiding him to the plush couch nearer to the door. Underneath her fingertips, she felt the soft fabric of Barba’s silk shirt, and the forever quickening pulse. “Should I call –“

“N-no,” He grunted, “Get out.” He let himself unceremoniously flop onto the chair, curling into a ball as he did so. “Leave, now.”

Liv stood back in shock at how small and fragile Rafael looked, with his knees tight against his chest. He whimpered, eyes tightly shut, suffering through the heavy splintering of every muscle and the gnawing of every nerve. He shook, and hugged himself as he braved the age-old punishment his dear old dad had burdened him with. Overwhelmed and exhausted, his body refused to respond to any of the breathing techniques Barba employed, or even to his state of inebriation. Barba blindly pawed at the back of the couch; Olivia, noticing his difficulty, ran for a waste basket, dropping the receptacle in front of Barba just in time for him to violently retch into it.

“Does – Does this happen often?” Olivia’s voice was soft and gentle, and Rafael recognized it as the tone she often took with younger victims. He. Was. Not. A. Victim.

Barba groaned and raised his head slightly, his eyes half-lidded. He wiped his mouth glancing up at Olivia. He wasn’t entirely sure if she meant the drinking or the pain. “Sometimes,” that answered both, but the pain normally preceded the drinking, “i-it’s not always this bad; I usually manage.”

“And you haven’t seen a doctor? Raf, you can’t take your health so lightly.”

“I can’t take time off.” He retorted.

“You can’t run yourself into the ground.”

“I can’t be weak.” He ground out every syllable through grit teeth. He hadn’t worked this hard, just for everything that bastard had said about him to be right. No matter what Ernesto had said about his son, Rafael Barba would not disappoint.

“Is that what your father said?” Olivia sat back on the coffee table, wondering why Rafael had such a twisted idea of himself. Barba nodded slowly, ashamed to admit that his father still had such an effect on him. Just thinking about the smell of rum and stale cigar smoke made his hand curl into a fist.

“Yeah, he never ceased to remind me how much of a disappointment I was,” Rafael corrected himself solemnly, “disappointment I am.”

“You’re not a disappointment. Working through holidays – working yourself to an early grave – doesn’t make you any stronger, Rafael. Look at you.” Rafael still managed to glare at Olivia, even as his body reminded him of how much damage a belt buckle could do. “Those scars – “

“I’m fine,” Rafael replied unconvincingly, still curled into a ball. “It’ll pass. It always does.”

Olivia sighed, “Why didn’t you tell me?” She stood and paced, shuffled to Barba’s desk, and retrieved Barba’s suit jacket. She would take him to a hospital, but knowing how stubborn he was… that wouldn’t be tonight.

“Same reason you didn’t tell me.”

“Fair enough,” Olivia began, “I suppose we all have our skeletons.”

Barba still refused to tell her that his childhood was the reason he transferred to SVU, but he had a feeling she had already figured that out. “What about that scar behind your ear…?”

“How did you even see that?” Olivia asked, filling the tumbler Barba had left behind. She toyed with the glass, relaxing when she saw Barba straighten a little. Olivia sipped at the amber liquid as she continued to watch him. She smiled; flattered by the fact Barba would pay attention to such a small detail. Absent-mindedly, Olivia let her fingertips brush over the piece of raised flesh. It mostly blended in with her skin tone, except for the slightly darker outline that Olivia thought resembled a star.

He raised his eyebrows and allowed his lips to turn into a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know…” He sang, delighting in the fact that not knowing would irritate the hell out of her. He sat up, his back finally deciding to give him a reprieve from the hold of his father’s demons. He grinned up at Olivia, relieved that he had someone that he didn’t have to hide from. “Maybe I’ll tell you over dinner sometime.”

Olivia smiled into the rim of the glass, letting the liquid sit on her tongue for a few moments before replying. “Maybe.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda ran away with it. Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> "perra pequena" - little bitch  
> "tonterias" - bullshit


End file.
